


So Close

by ready_to_kick_some_ass



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three, Hallucinations, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Short One Shot, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 14:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11830773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ready_to_kick_some_ass/pseuds/ready_to_kick_some_ass
Summary: The armchairs are so close together ... So close that their knees would touch.





	So Close

Rain was drumming monotonously against the windows of 221B Baker Street.

Gray in gray was the sky over London.  
As if it wanted to reflect Sherlock’s mood.

Sherlock sat at the table, at which John had so often typed his blog entries, and stared down at the syringe in his hand.  
Staring at the small, seemingly so harmless object.  
Tapping his pinky against the glass.

He swallowed.

He felt desire with a touch of guilt.  
Guilt.  
Damn the man who had planted this feeling of guilt in his heart.  
The man who had entered his life to lighten it, and then left to take the light away with him.  
John Watson.

Outside, a child laughed.

Inside, Sherlock ran his free hand over his sweaty face.

The hand trembled slightly.

Sherlock smiled bitterly and cheerlessly.  
Ah, the first withdrawal symptoms.  
He didn’t have to wait long for them to arrive.

While Sherlock was preparing everything, a voice whispered in his head about how disappointed John would be. How horrified and sad and so, so _disappointed._  
Sherlock pushed the voice aside, and slid the needle into his arm with a grim smile.

 

 _Fuck_ John Watson.

_Because if he really did care, he would be here …  
_

 

*

 

The light threw dancing shadows on the wall. Shadows without contour.

Sherlock sat squeezed in his chair. With his eyes half-closed, with his hands lightly on the rests.

He felt light and heavy at the same time.  
A constant act of balance.  
He took a deep breath. Cold air. Strong contrast to the heat in his body.

_Was it too much?  
Maybe. Maybe it was too much._

His gaze wandered around for a moment, and then lingered on John’s chair.

  
_John._

  
The memories came involuntarily, as he stared at the chair.

  
Clients.

Chatting in the evening.

The stag night.

_The stag night._

John’s feet touched during the night. John was so close and yet as far away as ever.  
He remembered John’s laughter. John’s glances, blurred from the alcohol.  
John’s hand like fire on his knee.

Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes again.

 

_It was definitely too much, Sherlock._

 

"Shut up, Mycroft," he whispered dazedly and sank a bit deeper into the armchair. _  
_

*  


“Sherlock.”

John’s voice. Quiet. But urgent.

Sherlock mumbled something incoherent. Everything hurt. He was cold.

“Sherlock!” This time much louder, and Sherlock winced. There were suddenly hands on his shoulders. “Wake up, you idiot.”

Sherlock opened his eyes, and looked into Johns.  
“John,” he muttered confused, and something was … wrong.  
“What…”

“You have fallen asleep in your chair,” said John, with a touch of amusement. “I guess your back must be hurting you quite a bit, you git?”

Sherlock stared at him. He couldn’t say a word.

John shook his head, and sat down in his own chair. And then, Sherlock realized how close they were to each other … so close, closer than at the stag night.

His knees touched Johns, and he nearly flinched away from the touch and warmth.  
Then John suddenly put his hand on his knee, and leaned slightly forward, Sherlock held his breath.  
“John …” he whispered. “Is this …”

“What?” John asked, his eyebrow raised. “Real? You tell me.”  
  
"I wish it was,” Sherlock replied softly, watching John smile.  
“There is no reason why it should not be, darling,” he said, then he leaned forward. He took Sherlock’s face in his hands, and Sherlock froze. Unable to do anything.  
John’s lips lingered on his, warm, soft, and affectionate. Sherlock closed his eyes, and felt the kiss, melted into it, there was only John and -

 

_I love you John …  
_

*  


\- He woke up on the ground.  
With his face right beside a puddle of his own vomit.  
His head was throbbing, and his whole body ached.  
Sherlock groaned, and tried to turn to the side.

In the next moment he heard his name - _Mycroft_ , hasty, worried - and hands were on him, trying to get him into a sitting position.

He did not have the strength to defend himself or to say anything.  
He just let it happen.  
He barely understood Mycroft’s words.

Daziness took hold of him once more and the last thing he saw before his eyes grew black, was how close the two armchairs were.

 _Have I pushed them so close together …_  


So close.  


_So close that our knees would have touched when …_  


Sherlock lost consciousness.

 

_So close …_

**Author's Note:**

> Say hello on [Tumblr](http://currently-in-my-mind-palace.tumblr.com/) :)  
> Beta: [bakerstreet-irregular](http://bakerstreet-irregular.tumblr.com/)


End file.
